The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order Chapter 2309 Taking down a Middle Alpha-Omega Overgod

Cain's gaze ignited, burning with a molten scarlet light as the Power of Chaos detonated within his frame. His Imperium surged toward a fresh threshold, growing more profound and lethal as the absolute potential of his soul and body was liberated.

"Cognitive Sovereignty-Override."

The proclamation did not merely echo; it consumed. The mental burden that had been freezing his thoughts was instantly obliterated. The Neo-Angel’s temporal pressure—designed to sluggishly bind his cognition—did not just dissipate. It inverted, rewiring itself into pure acceleration. Every synaptic process sharpened to a razor edge. Every thought multiplied in speed. Every calculation was finalized a heartbeat before instinct could even react.

A roar tore from Cain as he unleashed his power in a violent explosion. Strength, innate ability, destructive essence, and scarlet flames converged upon Sky Devourer. Heat bled across the cold metal, and the very fabric of space warped around the blade.

He kicked off the earth—a single, brutal launch—to meet the descending sword of the Neo-Angel head-on.

For one suspended moment of time, the world fell into silence. Then the two blades collided, causing reality itself to quiver between them. Density folded; light smeared; energy was compacted into a finite, singular boundary surrounding their weapons—

"BOOOOOOO0000000000OOM."

The explosion didn't just propagate; it rolled across the firmament like a chain reaction of detonations. The atmosphere cracked under the strain. The earth buckled. The resulting shockwave punched through walls of clouds, shredding moisture into fine vapor. Far below, the geological strata split open, and fractures raced across the face of the continent.

The force was catastrophic—so overwhelming that for a fleeting instant,

both the Neo-Demon and the Neo-Angel glimpsed the faint silhouette of the World Matrix manifesting across the horizon. It was a warning from the system that governed their realm.

Both pairs of eyes narrowed. The implication was undeniable: if they continued to ravage the landmass, the World Matrix would intervene. They had breached the limits of acceptable destructive thresholds.

Neither warrior hesitated.

Their weapons disengaged. Their bodies phased out of existence. The Neo-Demon and Neo-Angel teleported into the highest reaches of the sky to resume their assault.

Their blades bit into space once more.

And again.

And again.

Each collision arrived with greater speed and more weight—higher harmonics of sheer force. Cain's arms began to tremble. Every clash sent spiraling cracks along his skeleton, micro-fractures laced with agony. His Depravity Aura knitted the bone back together instantly, but his resources were finite. He could not maintain this grueling tempo forever.

Crowley, meanwhile, continued to adapt. Every swing of his blade expressed eons of curated instinct. He wasted no movement. Where Cain sought to shred, Crowley chose to bend.

Cain clenched his teeth, tasting the copper tang of blood, and accepted that he could not allow this to drag on.

A look of determination and raw brutality appeared in the eyes of the Neo-Demon.

He broke the distance, letting his momentum slip. His Chaos Wings flared open to their full span as his aura punched upward. He triggered the World Matrix, generating a synchronization.

Crowley's pupils dilated in shock.

"So it was you," he muttered—a low, lethal revelation.

The Neo-Angel had been hunting for the anomaly influencing the World Matrix within the Heart of Sin. Now, he finally possessed his answer. But

recognition did nothing to alleviate the crisis—the destructive pressure pouring from Cain was reaching an unprecedented amplitude. Crowley's instincts screamed of danger. Fatal danger.

He did not wait.

Crowley's soul force detonated, causing gravity to shear around his body. Space collapsed. He literally shifted the fabric of space, placing Cain directly before his descending sword. The Neo-Angel intended to execute him before the attack could fully mature.

Cain's eyes widened—not with fear, but with acknowledgment. The Neo-Angel's authority was obscene—refining the laws of relativity into a weaponry—but Cain did not lose his focus. He let his expression twist into a cold

smile.

Then, he vanished.

Crowley's blade slashed through empty sky, leaving him shaken to the core.

"Negative Teleportation? How—"

The question was never finished. Pressure surged behind him as Cain

manifested. He had no intention of explaining the ability granted through his

connection to Meylin. He simply acted.

"Chaos of Worldbreak—Ragnarök."

Darkness poured across several continents—a black tide swallowing all

color and draining the light. Within that void, an arc of incandescent destruction ignited—white-hot and merciless. It snapped toward

Crowley's exposed spine.

The Neo-Angel felt the exhale of death against the back of his neck.

Ragnarök descended.

A crack echoed within Crowley's core, and a mantle of darkness erupted around him. Hundreds of watching eyes blinked into existence across the barrier, forming a cocoon of primeval energy. The shield arrived a mere fraction of a heartbeat before the impact.

"BO000000000000000000000000000M"

The explosion hammered the barrier down into the earth, plowing a massive canyon across the continent—a ravine forged by a single strike. Soil vaporized instantly. Mountainsides collapsed into rubble. The shock pulse rolled outward for leagues.

Silence returned in jagged, broken fragments.

Five seconds passed. Maybe less.

Crowley rose from the gouged terrain, bleeding heavily. A deep wound cut across his back, exposing the bone. White spinal ridges glistened beneath charred flesh. Pain surged through him like molten iron.

Yet the pain was nothing compared to the hatred burning within his soul.

That mantle—the shield of eyes—was a one-time gift from the Ancient

One. It was a divine insurance policy meant to save his life from any foe. A trump card reserved strictly for existential threats.

And he had been forced to expend it against an Early Alpha-Omega

Overgod.

His jaw flexed. Rage crested. A low snarl built in his chest. He scanned his surroundings, his vision slicing through the dust and vapor. All he desired in that moment was Cain’s corpse. Killing him was the only

remedy for such humiliation.

But Cain was gone.

No matter how Crowley probed the area, he could not find a single trace.

"Bastard!"

The roar emptied the valley, full of rage, but it did not last long.

Soon, discipline reasserted itself—like steel cooling in water. His breathing leveled out. His pulse normalized. Crowley began to analyze the situation with cold professionalism.

The Prophetess's death was a logistical catastrophe. He needed to consolidate his information and secure the Freedom Path domains as

quickly as possible.

He cast one final murderous look across the distance, then pivoted

and flew toward the Freedom Path headquarters.

Cain saw none of this.

He was already long gone—fleeing the very moment Ragnarök struck. A

fragment of him had wanted to remain. To press the assault. To carve deeper. But the instant he witnessed that cocoon—the Ancient One's intervention—he understood the strike had failed to cripple Crowley.

And he knew exactly what would follow.

Chaos Art backlash.

The price for invoking Ragnarök.

Running was not an act of fear—it was survival. "It is disappointing that I didn't carve him open," he admitted inwardly,

"but it is irrelevant."

Cain exhaled once, dismissing his frustration. He focused on the Scarlet

Throne, letting the Prophetess's memories—her images, her secrets, and her coordinates—flood into his mind. Every shred of spiritual information was now his to command.

He smiled—a slow, predatory expression.

"The hunt begins." A scarlet aura flared outward. Time seemed to contract. The Fourth Realm unfolded before him like a grand banquet.